Identities
by mockingwords
Summary: Based on a prompt by elcapitan-rogers on Tumblr: After Nat left Tony (the scene where she said "I'm not the one that needs to watch their back), she met up with Steve and helps him break the gang out and refuge in some country with new identities.


The drive to Mystic was gruelling, to say the least. It was a quiet drive, and it was more than enough for her thoughts to wreak havoc. She had left New York after checking up on Rhodes. Tony was devastated, and she couldn't deny that she felt sorry for him. But she had to leave. She had no doubt that Steve would want to see her, but what if he didn't? What if this civil war had already torn the Avengers apart? If they split up, what was she to do? Go back to Russia? S.H.I.E.L.D was hardly a choice anymore. She didn't know what to think. She thought that she would be able to leave everything behind, the KGB, the Red Room; she thought she had turned her life around the moment Clint chose not to kill her. Natasha had never been so wrong. She had let Steve and Bucky go, on her own accord. General Ross would no doubt issue a warrant for her arrest the moment the news reached him, and she couldn't take that chance. A criminal, she was running; again. It hadn't been a lapse of judgement, rather; she wanted to. The moment she had stepped out on that battlefield, she knew it was different this time. It wasn't HYDRA, and it wasn't a group of highly trained soldiers, mercenaries, it was friends; it was family. Up until she had left Russia with Clint, she didn't even know what a family meant. He had taught her what it meant to be wanted, to have someone on your side; and she loved it. Now as the Avengers fought among themselves, she couldn't help but feel an ache in her heart. Tony might have been winning a battle, but he was losing a war.

* * *

It was far too easy to recognize Steve; he stood out like a sore thumb among the regular folks in the small café. She slipped on her aviators as she got out of the car, slamming the door of the Audi close as she did. He had contacted her when he'd left with Bucky, escaping on the quinjet.

"Should you really be calling?" She whispered as she made her way back to the others. T'Challa was livid with what she had done.

"I wanted to," he replied, and she almost smiled despite the situation. The Captain really did whatever he felt was right. She had let him go, and she would face the consequences of her actions.

"Thank you, Nat."

Natasha had followed her instincts, and at the very least, Bucky and Steve were safe because of it. She had done what she felt was right. If they caught him, they would've locked him up in a cell. It would've been ironic, Captain America, a symbol of freedom; stuck in a jail cell. She couldn't let that happen.

"Be careful Steve, you're a wanted man. The worst part is that you seem to enjoy pushing your luck."

"I'll take my chances," He was stubborn, and she couldn't help but wonder if he understood what he was doing, "Maybe when this is over, we can put this all behind us."

"We can try," she breathed, "Because the entirety of America has its sights set on us."

He paused for a moment and silence crossed the conversation.

"Then let's do it now."

"What?"

"Disappear."

She approached the table where Steve was seated, stirring his coffee mindlessly. Her eyes scanned around for any sign of potential threats, mentally marking down the exits. There were a few people around; a bored looking waitress stood behind the counter, and a family sat further down from them. The coast was clear. She sat down, and Steve looked up.

"How are you doing, soldier?" Natasha smirked, maybe because she was relieved to see him, still in one piece, still alive.

"Nat…"

He said her name quietly as if he was still trying to put two and two together that she was actually there.

"Come on, we haven't got all day," she said, getting up. As they exited the café, she could feel his hand on the small of her back and she knew; he had wanted to see her too.

* * *

It was not a piece of cake breaking into the prison where everyone else was being kept. She had hijacked one of the CIA's many helicopters, and with a little technology, she looked just like Maria. They just had to break everyone out without sounding the alarms. She had hacked into the mainframe easily enough, shutting down the security cameras long enough for Steve to break into the holding facility. They moved quickly, time was not their friend. It made things easier, knowing how the other functioned. He knew her every movement, and she knew his. The two of them worked in sync, he knew when to duck while she pulled the trigger, and she knew when to stay out of his way when he threw people around. A single glance was enough to indicate their positions and she was forever grateful that Captain America was her partner-in-crime and the man she trusted the most. They slipped in and slipped out, avoiding attention wherever they could, only to be discovered by one of the guards. That resulted in a bloody mess on the pristine white floors.

* * *

"Natasha…"

Wanda cried, her eyes brimming with tears as Natasha pulled her into an embrace. She was far too young to experience so much grief. After losing Pietro, she had been more reserved, quieter. They had found her, looking pale and scared, her arms and feet bound like she was some sort of psychopath. The fact that Natasha had played a part in their capture only seemed to tug at her heartstrings as a constant reminder. Yet, Wanda had come to her for comfort, not turning away in disgust at her actions. What had she done? As she held a tearful Scarlet Witch in her arms, Natasha could only feel the disgust she had and she pulled her a little closer. Sam flashed her a thankful and understanding glance, for which she was grateful. She still belonged.

They had gotten fake ID's, Scott's face lighting up like they were underaged teenagers sneaking into a club compared to fugitives trying to outrun the law. Bucky didn't seem entirely thrilled about it, and she could relate. Even so, it was the only way. They had to lay low for awhile and this was their only option. The trip to Russia was shorter than expected, but she was hardly excited to get back to her homeland. It brought back too many memories of what she had done to those who were unfortunate enough to cross her path. Those who got hurt in the process? Collateral damage they would call it, but she could only turn away from the window as the pilot announced their descend.

* * *

As she stood with Steve on the balcony of their rented apartment in Moscow, she almost laughed despite herself. They were wanted people; it was the KGB all over again.

"I'm sorry," Steve started, looking at her with those soulful blue eyes.

"What for?"

"For getting you involved in this, for bringing back old scars. If it wasn't for me, you wouldn't be here, you'd be safe at home."

Steve knew about the nightmares, the sleepless nights. Of course, he did, they were partners, they were friends. She shook her head, "I chose to do this Steve, it wasn't your doing."

She hoped that he would understand. She had done it because she wanted to help him, she didn't want him to go through the grief of losing Bucky all over again. Steve deserved better than that.

"Then... Thank you, Nat," Steve said, turning to face her and pulling her to his side. He was strong, but he was always ever so gentle with her. When they pulled apart, she could only smile when the thought hit her.

"You know, this means we're going to have to lie about our identities now."

He had always been far from a liar, but he only shrugged, "The truth is a matter of circumstances."

Natasha's smile grew slightly, "I feel like I'm influencing you a bit too much Rogers. I'm turning Captain America into a liar."

"Fury would be proud."

Natasha leaned against the railings, examining the fake ID she'd fished out from her pocket. She held it up for him to see before putting her hand out, her signature smirk on her face, "Nice to meet you, I'm Anastasia."

He took her hand and for the first time since the battle, she saw him smile, "Henry."


End file.
